


i'd love you under any roof

by wardo_wedidit



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Domestic, Future Fic, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, M/M, Moving, Parallels, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 21:04:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20160070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wardo_wedidit/pseuds/wardo_wedidit
Summary: "This is their last night in this place they grew together and became permanent. He held Patrick on a couch over there, packed up now, before he came out to his parents. They laid in this bed for hours after, talking softly about what it all meant. Over there is the door Patrick pushed him up against after they got engaged, kissing him so passionately David thought he might faint. They’ve spent so many nights here, important ones and ordinary ones, and all of a sudden David feels kind of choked up, overwhelmed by the enormity of it all."Or, the first night they spent in Patrick's apartment, and the last.





	i'd love you under any roof

**Author's Note:**

> This is so many more words than I wanted it to be? It was supposed to be a cute lil compare and contrast, and now it's a porn-filled, emotion-filled monster. 
> 
> Thank you as always to [Em](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goingmywaydoll/pseuds/goingmywaydoll), who is actually the one who gifted me with this idea in the first place. I hope this lives up to your expectations of what this could be! Huge gratitude to [Claire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cromarty/pseuds/cromarty) as well, for listening to me whine throughout and assuring me this isn't garbage, and also to [Kat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imbrokelyn99/pseuds/imbrokelyn99), who was kind enough to do the same and also was brave enough to copy edit this monster (which was continually worked on between the hours of 11PM and 3AM, so I definitely owe her one). Without those two, this would have died in my WIP folder.
> 
> Title from [Corey Kilgannon](https://open.spotify.com/track/7mE8MPVQRjvi6T2F0lDYkL?si=9s2Th9PuSxKVf13ZEDQwtQ), a song I'm pretty sure Cali introduced me to. :)

_first night._

The first thing David says when they unlock the doors of Patrick’s new apartment and walk in is, “Wait, where’s the bed?”

Patrick huffs a laugh because he’s sure he told David this already, but in his defense, it might have been while they were at the Chinese restaurant, waiting on their takeout. He’s pretty sure he remembers explaining it to him at those little laminate tables with the wobbly chairs, but he also knows David finds it hard to concentrate on other things when he’s waiting for food.

“Remember? I brought the air mattress in yesterday,” Patrick says, trying to hide a fond laugh and moving quickly to the counter so he can deposit the bag in his arms. They’d thrown five fortune cookies in the second bag that David’s holding, which he assumes means the two of them ordered enough food for five people.

David is still standing at the door, stunned, like this is brand new information. Patrick bites down on a smile after a long moment. “Are you coming in? Or are you planning on camping out in the hallway in protest?” he asks, and David shoots him a sarcastic little look, striding inside.

“I think you know me well enough to know that I’ve never had any plans to _camp_ anywhere,” he says, making his way over and pulling the plastic silverware out of the bag, lining up the boxes in an order that is incomprehensible to Patrick, though David is obviously operating under some clearly defined logic in his head. “Including the floor of your brand-new apartment.”

“Mm,” Patrick allows, nodding and pretending to be serious. “So I’m guessing I’ll be driving you back to the motel after dinner then, huh?”

He looks up at David with a challenging smirk, and David melts and flushes under his gaze, giving up the game of it all. “I mean, I guess I can tough it out. For one night,” he admits, suddenly focused on opening the takeout containers as if it requires absolutely all of his attention.

“I could have _sworn_ I told you the bed was getting delivered next week,” Patrick says, looking at him sideways so he doesn’t miss the way David’s face goes shocked.

“Excuse me?”

Patrick wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him in for a kiss. David relaxes into the touch, hand going to the back of Patrick’s neck, thumb caressing lightly over his jawline. He seems slightly dazed when Patrick pulls away, which is a win.

This whole day has been a win so far, in fact. They’ve been looking forward to tonight since Patrick signed off on the last of the paperwork last week, and even more since he picked up the keys from Ray yesterday. The store had been busy today but it had been pretty on and off, so a lot of it had felt like a really delicious slow build of anticipation. Every time Patrick walked by, he’d trail a hand over David’s hip just to watch the way he’d shiver, and they actually skipped lunch to make out in the stockroom like the old days—albeit accidentally, what started out as kind of a joke had turned into them completely losing track of time. David’s stomach had grumbled the rest of the afternoon but he seemed too excited to be grumpy about it, which Patrick found really fucking adorable.

“How about we pick up a pizza?” Patrick had asked as he flipped the lock on the front door, but David had shaken his head determinedly.

“Chinese,” he insisted, with a certain vehemence that puzzled Patrick, so he teased and needled until David finally just said _that’s what people do!_ and Patrick understood the unsaid part of that sentence was clearly _in the movies_ because where else would David have seen that; when people in the movies moved into a new place they got Chinese food and ate it sitting on the floor, with chopsticks, straight out of the containers. That’s what was correct, apparently.

The realization must have shone through on Patrick’s face because he’d stopped prodding and just finally smiled at David like he was the sun, watching him blush a little in response and duck his head with a shy smile, and then they were both back to the task at hand.

Since today was a special occasion and the store wasn’t open tomorrow, Patrick had driven them to the good Chinese restaurant in Elmdale, and David had gone pleased like this was the most romantic gesture in the world.

“Come on,” he says now, tugging David to the center of the hardwood floor and sitting down, criss-cross.

They spend the meal mentally mapping out where everything will go: Patrick shows David pictures on his phone of the furniture and pulls up the measurements like David asks, and David casts his gaze around the room with a calculating eye, trying to figure out which area gets the most light and what makes the most sense. He’s glad that David seems excited to help, despite the miscommunication earlier, and that he feels comfortable making his mark on the place.

“What?” David asks when he catches Patrick looking, but he just laughs, shaking his head.

“Nothing,” he murmurs, feeling a little bit silly and turning back to his food.

But David insists, poking him in the arm with the square end of his chopstick, half laughing now. “No, c’mon, what?”

He’d been thinking something painfully earnest about how good it is to see David talk about the things he cares about, or even how glad he is that David’s here, how far they’ve come. But it feels too serious for the moment, with David’s crooked smile aimed on him, so he says, “I’m just feeling particularly honored that you’re willing to sleep on an air mattress for me.”

David rolls his eyes at Patrick’s teasing face, but he’s smiling. “Look, it’s literally this or a room with my sister, don’t get a big head about it.”

“Hmm,” Patrick hums, catching David’s hand and fiddling with his fingers. David gives him a look like he’s humoring him but Patrick pretends to focus on his silver rings, as if he doesn’t already have them memorized. “So it’s definitely not because you were eager to enjoy the first real night of privacy in the new place?”

David’s breath catches, so slight and quiet that anyone else might not notice it. He clears his throat. “Definitely—definitely not that,” he says unconvincingly.

“Really?” Patrick asks, all false innocence as he looks back up at his boyfriend. “Because that’s kind of what it seemed like, back at the store today.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” David says primly as he draws his hand away, returning to his food, and Patrick grins.

It’s not like they _never_ had privacy—they spent more time than was strictly professional in the stockroom when they first started dating, and they definitely fooled around in Patrick’s room at Ray’s plenty. Most of it rushed and frantic when he was out, both of them always worried he’d come home at any moment and come bursting in, but there were also early morning blowjobs as the light of dawn came slanting through the windows, ones where Patrick had to bite his knuckles to stay quiet. There were even a couple weekends where Ray had a conference or was out of town where they could let go a little more, both of them desperate and giddy with the newfound freedom.

But this feels different already, even though they’re just sitting, talking. This is their space, where there are no threats of sisters walking in during an innocent little makeout session on David’s cramped twin, no customers to ding the bell, no roommates to interrupt. It’s so nice just to have this… time, to themselves, to watch David try not to smile when Patrick teases him and light up about furniture, hands moving fast as he talks, and know it’s all for him.

After they finish eating, Patrick brings in the box of essentials from his car: towels, sheets, coffeepot, a couple glasses, a small lamp. David had packed them an overnight bag with toiletries, clothes, and toothbrushes, which he brings in too. Tomorrow they start moving the boxes currently at Ray’s and pick up some of the furniture, with the help of Stevie (and Roland’s truck). There really isn’t all that much in Patrick’s old room, and they could have brought it all tonight, but he knew he’d be too tired to really power through the way he wanted after a full day of work.

Still, it’s going to be a fairly early morning, so Patrick doesn’t waste any time getting started on the air mattress.

David wrinkles his nose when Patrick unrolls it, but doesn’t say anything, and Patrick would probably be annoyed with anyone else even though he can’t help but find it highly amusing on David. “Are you sure that’s a queen?” he asks, and Patrick points to right where it says so on the carrying bag. David doesn’t seem satisfied. “It just doesn’t look that big.”

“We’ve slept a full night on your twin bed before, we’ll be fine,” he says casually, plugging in the pump.

“Right, but never on _purpose_,” David protests, which is also true. It only happened a couple (maybe five?) times they were watching a movie, and Patrick had every intention of getting up and going home to his own bed, but then David was so warm and close that he just ended up falling asleep and then boom, it was morning.

Instead of coming up with a witty response, he flips the switch on the pump, and David jumps about a mile. It’s ridiculously loud, and David is trying to say something to him over the noise and Patrick can’t waste this opportunity to be a little shit, to cup his hand around his ear and shout “What?” David catches on immediately, narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms playfully, waiting for him to finish.

He turns off the pump and David opens his mouth, but before the words can come out, Patrick says, “Come here, I need you to see if it’s firm enough.”

David’s mouth snaps closed and he goes, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed and bouncing a little as if to test it. Patrick knows David has particular specifications about mattress firmness—he’d brought him along on the shopping trip for the bed for that reason specifically.

“I think it feels okay,” he says judiciously, turning to look at Patrick with such a serious expression that he can’t help but want to make it break.

“Are you sure?” Patrick asks, cocking his head a little. David nods, oblivious to the game. “I think you need to lie down to be able to really tell.”

David follows directions, not yet catching on that it’s a joke, and Patrick crawls up beside him. “Hey,” David says, bracing a hand on the floor as if he’s not sure how sturdy this thing is and doesn’t trust it. “I thought I was the one testing.”

“You are,” Patrick agrees, nodding seriously. “I was just trying to give you the most realistic conditions possible.”

That’s when David’s grin starts to emerge, when he realizes what Patrick’s doing. He wiggles a little to face him fully, hand fisted in the front of Patrick’s button down. “Well, I appreciate the dedication to the job,” he says with a smirk.

“Of course,” Patrick agrees, but then he’s leaning in and kissing David, slow and perfect. David sighs like he’s been waiting for it, and the thing is, they _have_, they both have. He sinks into the kiss like it’s home, opening his mouth to let Patrick in. Patrick smoothes a hand over David’s waist, around his back to pull him closer, and David goes, nudging a thigh between Patrick’s legs. Patrick’s mouth falls open on a whimper as he scrambles his hand under David’s sweater, getting to the warm skin of his back, and just then David pulls back, breathing a little more heavily than before, eyes dark.

He moves to kiss down his neck, and Patrick notices the way his hands are shaking on his button down as he nips at Patrick’s jaw. God, he wants _more_, rolls his hips experimentally for more friction and David flexes his thigh. Patrick groans, so into it already, and David’s mouth goes twisted with a smirk.

“You—just—” he tries for a second, and then appears to give up on words as he pushes at Patrick’s shoulder, getting him flat on his back.

And just like that, the air mattress lets out an embarrassing plastic creak.

David pulls back, face befuddled. “What the fuck?”

Patrick grins, snaking a hand up around David’s neck, hoping to pull him in for a kiss. “God, you really weren’t kidding about never sleeping on one of these, were you?” he asks.

David gives him that look like it’s obvious. “Why would I lie about that?” he says, moving to straddle Patrick’s hips and—

There it is, another groan of protest, and David freezes, an annoyed expression on his face. Patrick has to move to cover his mouth with one hand so David hopefully won’t notice that he’s going to lose it in laughter any second. He inches forward again, and it squeaks, and David groans, flopping off Patrick and onto his back.

“We can’t have sex like this!” he whines, and Patrick does laugh now, overwhelmed giggles bursting out of him. “This isn’t funny!” David insists over the sound, but it is, it really is, because Patrick’s laughter is rocking the whole bed and that makes David laugh too, contagious.

“We could always fuck on the floor,” Patrick suggests, not really meaning it but just too curious to see what David’s face does in response.

He bites his lip thoughtfully as Patrick tips his head to look at him. “In my experience, hotter in theory than in real life? You just make yourself _really_ sore,” he admits before making eye contact with Patrick and realizing it was mostly a joke. “Okay, you’re making fun of me,” he says without heat. In fact, he sounds _delighted_.

“Not at all, I just appreciate the thought and consideration you’re putting in, here.”

David rolls his eyes, pushing off the bed and padding over to the bathroom. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says archly, and Patrick smiles, watching him go. He makes the bed while David’s gone, gets the pillowcases on the pillows, airs out the comforter and lets it fall on top. He takes a mental picture: a little suggestion of home in the bare apartment. Just them in all this quiet, all this empty space.

David emerges in a black t-shirt and a pair of drawstring shorts, hands in his pockets, a shy kind of look on his face. Patrick looks him up and down, hit all over again with the thrill of tonight. It feels like their first time all over again, almost, at Stevie’s, the way it had felt intimate and new to see each other in pajamas. “Your turn,” David says, tilting his head toward the bathroom, and Patrick clambers up, passing by just a little too closely on his way.

David’s lying on his side on the air mattress when he gets back, under the covers and scrolling with his phone above his face. He’s still, like he’s worried about making it squeak again, and the evening light is streaming in onto him from the windows and hitting him just right that it takes Patrick’s breath away. He swallows hard, trying to contain the feeling in his chest as he makes his way back over. David sets his phone on the floor and twists his mouth to the side as Patrick lies down carefully behind him, pulling up the duvet to his chest, threading his hands over his ribcage and looking up at the ceiling. Neither of them speaks for a moment.

“It’s too early to go to bed,” David says, voice soft like it’s just for Patrick.

“Ah,” Patrick says, turning so he’s on his side, head propped up on one elbow. “So what should we do?”

“I don’t know,” David says, playing along as he looks back at Patrick, barely concealing a smile. There’s something so charming and irresistible in his eyes, and Patrick’s poker face slowly melts into a grin to see it.

“Hmm,” he hums, consideringly, scooting closer and pressing along David’s back. He noses behind his ear, breathing him in, and David shivers in his hold. “You can’t think of… anything?” He rucks up David’s shirt so he can smooth a hand across his stomach, scratching with his nails a little bit by the end.

“No,” David says, breathless, and Patrick loves the game of it all, how neither of them wants to be the first to give in.

“Huh,” Patrick says, rolling away all at once just to be difficult, and David lets out this _whine_ that startles a laugh out of Patrick, curling himself around David again in apology, savoring the sigh he lets out at the contact, pressing kisses into his neck.

“Don’t tease me,” David says, a little out of breath, and Patrick bites where his neck meets his shoulder, sharp like a reward.

“You love it,” Patrick murmurs into his skin, but David’s right, he’s done teasing, untying David’s shorts and helping him shimmy them down, groaning happily to find David’s not wearing his usual fancy black underwear. “_Fuck,_ David.”

“These are the advantages of privacy,” David says, a slight whimper to his voice as Patrick brings his hand up to lick his palm before getting his hand on him. David shivers in his arms as Patrick starts to move.

The air mattress is still making all these squeaky, overt noises, but the sounds coming out of David’s mouth drown them out. “Remember,” Patrick says, low and gravelly in his ear, the way he knows David likes. “Remember how good it was at Stevie’s place? That first time?”

“Yes,” David breathes fervently, eyes squeezed shut and thrusting up into Patrick’s hand like he can’t help himself. Patrick thumbs over the head, twists his wrist the way he’s learned David really likes.

“You were so good to me,” he murmurs, because more than anything that’s always going to be what he remembers about that night: the way David made sure he got what he wanted, the way he was there to help Patrick come down, the way he smoothed his palms down Patrick’s arms as he quaked from coming so hard. “It was so good to have you all to myself, to have all that privacy, it was the best I—” his voice cracks with how much he means it and he stops himself. He didn’t intend to get emotional right now but he can’t help it, thinking about how he gets that for keeps now, that thing that felt so revelatory, a soft miracle, the sweetest relief. “I can’t wait to have that with you,” he says, a little choked up.

“You’re having it right now,” David groans, bratty and needy and gorgeous, always so gorgeous.

“Okay,” Patrick laughs, “Is that a not-so-polite way of telling me to get on with it?”

“I wanna come,” David begs, “I want you to make me come.”

Patrick moans a little, tries to tamp it down by pressing his lips together into the soft fabric of David’s shirt, but his hips roll into David’s ass, desperate for friction. “Whatever you want,” he exhales, jerking him faster now, and David lets out a needy little sob at the words.

“Patrick,” he pleads, pushing back against Patrick’s frantic thrust, like he can’t decide whether to fuck up into Patrick’s touch or back against him.

“Shh,” Patrick says, trying to soothe him, reaching up with his free hand to David’s head, knotting his fingers in his hair and tugging once, fast and fierce, and David’s head lolls back, pliant, letting loose a whine.

“Do it again?” he asks, voice going high and breathy, and Patrick does, just once, and David spills all over his fingers with a hollowed-out, wild gasp.

“God,” Patrick says, voice all shaky, flopping onto his back, watching David’s body heave as he tries to catch his breath. He flails around for something, eventually stretching for a napkin from the spot on the floor where they ate Chinese earlier, doing a hurried but good enough job.

When he turns back, David’s on his back too, shorts kicked off and shirt discarded (he runs warm during sex and Patrick loves to admire the way the flush stretches down to his collarbone). He lays his cheek on his pillow so he can see Patrick. His nose is wrinkled, like he wants to comment on how wrong that just was, but decides against it in favor of reaching forward, pulling Patrick’s t-shirt off with grabby hands and tossing it farther than is necessary. He’s kissing him before Patrick can defend himself or even say anything, thumbs in the waistband of Patrick’s boxers and pulling them down, letting them get lost in the sheets.

“Fuck,” Patrick breathes, because there’s something almost unspeakably hot about how much David wants to make him come immediately after he’s come himself, like it’s just as good. He slithers down Patrick’s body, movements smooth and lithe, touching everywhere he passes and leaving a trail of kisses in his wake, until he’s breathing hot and wet over Patrick’s cock.

“David,” he pants, hands fisted in the sheets, which are slipping off the corners of the mattress and tangling beyond belief.

David wraps a hand around him, slow and teasing. He has that look of concentration on, because Patrick’s learned that sex is something he takes seriously, gives it a level of focus Patrick’s only ever seen elsewhere with the store. Patrick swallows hard, wanting so much he can’t even speak. He’s wet with pre-come, enough that David doesn’t even need anything, just watches Patrick’s face intently like he wants to catalogue every heave of his chest, every little noise he lets out.

Patrick shudders. He’s not used to this level of attention, never got it with anyone else during sex, and so many of his other times with David were rushed, giddy, too turned on to wait and stop and notice. “Say something,” he says, half a laugh, and David grins, like he knows what’s going on in Patrick’s head. “Anything.”

He takes a breath and lets it out slowly, voice deliberate when he speaks. “When you get a real bed in here,” he says, his voice kind of low and rough in a way that makes Patrick shiver, “I’m gonna fuck you right.”

“_Oh,_” Patrick says, breathy and surprised, hips jumping up against his will.

“Yeah,” David continues, hand moving faster now. His eyes are still trained on Patrick and his voice is needy like _he’s_ the one about to come. “See if I can get you to make new noises, in all this privacy.”

“Fuck, David,” he gasps, squeezing his eyes shut for a second and swallowing hard, trying to get a handle on himself and not come embarassingly fast. It’s not like it matters, it’s not like either of them care, especially when they’ve been winding each other up all day, but he just doesn’t want David to stop touching him yet. He’s waited for this all day and he doesn’t want it to be over.

“Look at you, god, Patrick,” David says, sounding a little breathless himself. “You’re so, you’re so—”

“I’m so close,” he manages, voice tight, twisting a hand in the sheets.

“God yeah, I want you to come,” David says, voice quieter now, “I want you to—can you be loud for me? Want to hear you Patrick, please,” and he sounds like he wants it _so_ much, like just the sounds of Patrick letting go do it for him, and Patrick opens his mouth to respond but then David is leaning down and sucking the head of his cock into his mouth.

Patrick groans, tangling his fingers in David’s hair. He’s sure part of it is to avoid a mess on the only set of sheets they currently have access to, but David is also full of mean, cruel tricks to play him like an instrument. He works him with one hand and reaches down to tease at his balls with the other, and Patrick lets out a moan that makes him flush. It is different, not having to consciously fight his every reaction, let David punch the sounds out of him and not have to bite his lips until they bleed to keep them inside. The apartment is so empty and the sound bounces off the walls, slightly embarrassing, but David hums around him, a little like enthusiasm and a little like encouragement, and Patrick can’t help but smile slightly.

He teases more sounds out of him bit by bit until Patrick is shaking, too desperate by now to be even a little bit bashful about the noises he’s making. Then David steadies his hands on Patrick’s hips and takes him down, smooth until he hits the back of his throat, and Patrick _shouts_ and comes, the sound tapering off into a whimper at the end. David takes it all like a pro and Patrick watches him swallow for a moment before he has to turn his head and press the side of his face into the pillow, overcome.

David pulls off when he’s done, resting his head on Patrick’s thigh and panting a little bit. Patrick peeks to look at him, to take in the happy, relaxed, slightly dazed look on his face. It goes slightly teasing when their eyes catch. “So do we know how thick the walls are here? Should I be extra polite to the neighbors in the morning, or…?”

Patrick groans, cheeks heating up at the suggestion, throwing an arm over his face. David’s shaking with laughter, pleased with himself. “I can’t believe you would put that thought into my head right now,” he says, and David grins, tapping his hip with two familiar fingers.

“It was worth it, we had to christen the place,” he says, and Patrick rolls his eyes, unconvinced.

He still looks satisfied when he gets up, padding over to the bathroom across the hardwood floor. Patrick listens to the water run, the gentle sounds of David rummaging around in the bag for what Patrick assumes is a washcloth and mouthwash, since he knows his routines pretty well at this point. He rummages around in the sheets for his boxers, looks back in time to see David walking back, lips pressed together and picking up Patrick’s flung t-shirt along the way.

Patrick’s eyes flick up for a second and then back down, and David catches him looking. “What?” he asks, a laugh in his voice as picks up his clothes from where they’re pooled on the floor by his side of the bed.

“What do you mean, what?” Patrick asks. He can hear a giddy smile bleeding through his voice but is helpless to stop it as he watches David step into his shorts.

David flaps his hand in Patrick’s direction. “_You_, you look all… smug,” he says, pulling his t-shirt over his head and then climbing back down and in next to him. Patrick turns on his side so they’re looking at each other full on.

“Oh, I’m not allowed to be smug?” he asks, and David shakes his head, playful and determined. “Not even if I’m admiring my boyfriend walking around naked in my new apartment?”

David bites his lip a little, shakes his head harder, and Patrick plays along with the game, sighing dramatically. “Seems kind of unfair, I gotta say. I thought I would be able to make the rules in my own home.” He flops back onto his back, drawing out of range for David to kiss.

And just like that, David nudges closer, arm grazing against Patrick’s as he moves to tuck his hands under his pillow. “What would the rules be?” he asks, a tiny little childish thrill in his voice, the kind Patrick wants to wrap up and keep so no one else gets to hear it.

He counts them off on his fingers. “Well, one, I get a free pass on ogling you. Two, no mention of the neighbors immediately before, after, or during sex, I’m going to run into these people.” David rolls his eyes at that one. “And three, you’re not allowed to put your clothes back on, why did you do that—”

David wrinkles his nose and a look of disgust takes over his face, immediate and visceral. “I am _not_ sleeping naked on an air mattress, Patrick,” he says, tone final, and Patrick laughs. He starts laughing and then he can’t stop, and David starts too, and then Patrick is winding his arms around him and pulling David close so that his head is on Patrick’s chest. David runs a hand over his stomach, slow, and Patrick hums, feeling very content.

They breathe slowly for a few minutes, and Patrick feels himself start to drift off when David says, voice small, “Should we turn the lights off?”

Patrick shakes his head, amused, because he honestly would have forgotten if David hadn’t said anything. He untangles himself from David, from the messy state the bed is currently in, walking over to flip the switch really quickly. He can’t see in the dim light, but he thinks David’s looking at him in the darkness, happy and maybe a little bit excited.

He crawls back between the sheets, and David makes a demanding little noise that makes Patrick chuckle softly until they’re back in the same position they were a minute ago: Patrick on his back, David pillowed on his chest. “So how would we rate the first night?” David murmurs, soft, and Patrick grins, lets his eyes fall closed.

“Eleven, David.”

//

_last night._

Patrick is struggling to get the door unlocked because he’s laughing so hard, and it’s making David laugh too.

“Shhhh, shh,” David tries, scratching a soothing hand up Patrick’s back before he finally hears the lock click in place. “Be careful, there’s—boxes—” he says, throwing out a steadying hand so that Patrick doesn’t trip and fall as they stumble over the threshold.

They’ve been back from their honeymoon for a little over a week, and have spent all the time they weren’t at the store packing and preparing for the move. They’d closed the store for today to do the majority of the packing and move the couch, table, and other furniture—everything big except the bed.

It meant keeping the van another day, but David had argued it was worth the extra charge to be able to sleep in an actual bed versus the air mattress. “And it should also be the first thing we set up in the house,” he’d said, and Patrick had rolled his eyes fondly and said “Okay, David,” but David knows he’s right, and knows Patrick does too because he doesn’t actually fight it.

“Did you see her face?” Patrick says, gasping with laughter as he falls down onto the bed. “When Ted suggested—they come help us move tomorrow—”

David shakes his head, grinning as he recalls the frantic look on his sister’s face in the cafe earlier that evening. Ted had wanted to take them out for a celebratory dinner, and of course when he heard what the plan was, he couldn’t resist offering his and Alexis’ Saturday. David can already hear her complaints. “She’s gonna be a nuisance.”

“Fuck, what do you think she’ll wear?” Patrick asks, scrubbing a hand over his face as he catches his breath.

“You can lend her your raggedy work shirt,” David suggests, biting his lip to keep from smiling too hard as he stretches out next to him on the bed. Another laugh bubbles out of Patrick at the suggestion, and David joins him: the mental image of Alexis in the worn, paint-flecked flannel he wears to work on messy projects too good to resist.

“God,” Patrick sighs, the giddiness draining out of him even though the slow, contented smile sticks around on his face. “I can’t believe it’ll all be done tomorrow.” The exhaustion bleeds through and David wants to hug him, wants to wrap himself around Patrick until his breathing goes slow. But before he can reach forward, Patrick is peeling himself off the bed and getting pajamas out of their overnight bag.

So David bites his lip and gets up to change, folding his dirty clothes very carefully and taking the bag with him as he follows Patrick into the bathroom. Patrick smiles at him around his toothbrush and David hip checks him lightly to squeeze in beside him. They look at each other in the mirror, teasing eyes and fond faces, taking turns spitting in the sink.

Patrick heads back out first, and for just a moment, David is struck dumb in the doorway, a memory hitting him hard and fast.

Patrick turns to look at him as he crawls between the sheets. “What?”

A knowing smile curls onto David’s face. He presses his palms to the doorframe. “Gentlemen,” he says, pitching his voice a little higher, “are we sure we want the door?”

The smile breaks over Patrick’s face all at once, throwing his head back with laughter, delighted and flushed. David steps forward, making his way over slow and pleased, until he gets close enough that Patrick can fist a hand in David’s t-shirt, pulling him in.

“God, come here,” he says, breathless, before he can capture David’s mouth in a searing, messy kiss. He tugs until David’s shins are bracketing his legs, up on his knees so Patrick has to crane his neck a little up into the kiss. David can’t stop smiling into it, the corners of his lips tipping up, and Patrick groans with frustration, biting his bottom lip hard enough that David gasps a little. Patrick uses it as an opening to thrust his tongue in David’s mouth, filthy and desperate, and David shivers in his arms, whimpering.

He presses himself closer, taking Patrick’s face in his hands and angling himself so he’s all over Patrick, surrounding him. It’s lazy and messy and so, so good, the kind of settled, relaxed makeouts they’ve learned to have in the time Patrick has lived here. David never really had to think about privacy before he moved to Schitt’s Creek because he never really had to navigate his life around other people. He had a big, lonely apartment where he could bring home basically anyone he wanted and it never helped, never made it feel any smaller or any more like home.

But this, Patrick’s apartment, has felt like home from day one. He loved watching Patrick slowly settle into it, adding things here and there, asking for David’s opinions and letting him in so fully. There was an initial frenzy to their time here, because of all the build-up and all the time they’d spent having to plan exactly when and how they could fuck, but then things mellowed out in the best way, a way David didn’t really know sex could be. Something familiar and comfortable but still exciting, full of laughter and warmth. To have the luxury to take their time and touch each other and do exactly what they wanted, when they wanted, with no end in sight, is the best thing David’s ever had.

Now Patrick’s hands are moving up and down his back, then raking impatiently under his t-shirt as this thing between them slowly gains heat and catches fire. He scratches his blunt nails into the skin for a minute or two before fumbling it off, quickly followed by his own. He dives back in like he couldn’t be hungrier for it, for all of David, kisses getting more and more desperate. David smooths a palm down his arm, trying to calm him somewhat, but Patrick groans, scrambling and moving them so David’s flat on his back, an _oof_ of surprise coming out of him as he hits the mattress.

“Patrick—”

“Just let me—” he tries, but kisses David before he can finish his thought, like he can’t wait, and David can feel him gradually unfurling again, relaxing into it, and David reaches up to cup his cheek, moving his thumb slowly back and forth over his flushed skin. It slows down a little, becoming something less hurried but still so tender, not losing any intensity. Patrick’s hands move gently as they slip David out of his pajama pants, like he wants to touch as much of his skin as he can while he moves. Then the boxers go and Patrick is still touching him like he’s the most precious thing, through of all of it, and David can’t breathe, starts letting out little noises of want, and Patrick reaches for the lube and—

“Fuck,” he says, guttural, because of course their bedside table isn’t there and his hand is flailing in thin air. David stifles a laugh.

Patrick shoots him what is maybe meant to be a glare, but it’s undercut by the smile he can’t seem to stop on his face as he gets out of bed. “Why is the overnight bag in the bathroom?”

David shimmies down in the bed further, getting a pillow under his hips. “Because that’s where toiletries live!”

He hears the sounds of Patrick rummaging through the duffel, making tiny little noises of frustration. David had really packed it full. He thinks a second, and then raises his voice a little. “Also, if you’re planning on fucking me bare, you better bring a towel! I am not running a last-minute load of laundry tomorrow morning and I’m not moving dirty sheets.”

A beat, the sounds of Patrick’s impatient hands, and then his voice. “But I thought we only packed two—”

“I threw in an extra, just in case,” he calls back, and then it’s only a moment before Patrick emerges, lube and extra towel in hand. David knows he looks smug, maybe even a little cocky, and Patrick seems to think so too, the way his face goes immediately teasing.

“Oh, you were planning this, were you?” He gets back on the bed, settles himself along David’s side and a little bit over him. David hears the bottle’s telling click.

“No,” he says, breathless and a little bit shy, somehow, and he really hadn’t. He hadn’t planned anything beyond Patrick, and he knows Patrick likes a nice symmetry to these things. He can tell Patrick doesn’t believe him from the way he murmurs a small, disbelieving “hm” but doesn’t protest further, and then he’s circling a finger around David’s rim, and he’s gasping so he can’t argue the point any more.

He leans in further to kiss over the sensitive spot behind David’s ear, then biting gently at the lobe. “That’s too bad,” he says, voice low and coarse. “I like it when you plan things.”

David opens his mouth but Patrick’s pushing a finger inside, just roughly enough and faster than he usually might. There’s that edge that David loves, not just for the feel of it but because when Patrick—his sweet, buttoned-up, responsible husband (and god, when will that word not feel like a revelation to think) _Patrick_—gets impatient, it’s kind of the hottest thing in the world. “Yeah?” he tries, voice a little shaky, pressing back onto Patrick’s fingers, trying to show him he wants more, more, more.

Patrick slides in another, moving them agonizingly slowly but being thorough about it, curling them just right like a reward. “Yeah, David,” he says, and his voice is soft and close and warm and David has to close his eyes, breathe out. “Extra towels and—surprise honeymoon massages, and setting up the bed first, in the new place…” His voice trails off but it’s so full of warmth, of affection, and David doesn’t have to see it to know he’s smiling.

David feels his breath hitch, squirming a little. He flutters his eyes open to see Patrick looking at him like he’s something absolutely precious, something worthy of wonder. “What else?” he says, not even caring that he sounds a little bit petulant, desperate for attention.

Patrick chuckles, leaning down. “Surprise parties,” he says softly, dropping a kiss to David’s collarbone, and then moving still. “Weddings,” he adds, dragging his lower lip teasingly along the hollow at the center of his chest, between his ribs. “Furniture layouts,” he says again, biting at David’s hipbone. Then he’s taking the head of David’s cock into his mouth in one smooth, hungry motion, and David presses one side of his face into the pillow and lets out a moan.

Patrick is a tease and David is leaking, getting so wet, caught between wanting to push back onto Patrick’s fingers or thrust up, into his mouth. He adds a third finger when David bucks his hips up once, experimentally, which is smooth and practiced and one of David’s favorite moves. He sucks him slow, torturous, and David knows he’s not going to get to come this way, so he shouldn’t feel as undone as he is. Patrick likes it when David comes when he’s inside him, messy, all over his stomach. It sends him over the edge more often than not, his body tightening and spasming and then Patrick’s filling him up, and god, David loves that so, so much.

But now Patrick’s brushing over his prostate, rhythmic and maddening and perfect, all at once, enough to get him whimpering. He chances a look down to where his fingers are tangled in Patrick’s hair, the dark waves longer than they used to be, just enough to pull at. He tugs, angling for Patrick to come up, but Patrick just groans, eyes slipping closed like he loves the sensation, and _fuck_.

“Patrick,” he breathes, because he’s not above begging, he’s really, really not. Patrick’s fingers are sparking him up inside but it’s not enough, and Patrick promised. “Please, I need you, please, _please_,” he says, and Patrick takes pity on him, pulling off David’s dick with a slick noise and sliding his fingers out all at once: another mean, dirty trick that leaves David feeling so empty inside he lets out a needy “_Oh._”

“Shh,” Patrick says, wiping his fingers hastily on David’s naked thigh. He finds the towel, murmurs “lift” so he can get it under David and readjust him, hiking a leg over his shoulder before reaching for the lube again to slick himself up quickly. He’s so hard, David can see, and he wants it, wants it wants it wants it. “Shhhh, you’re okay, it’s okay.”

David squeezes his eyes shut and nods, jerky and trying so, so hard to be patient and probably failing miserably. “Oh,” he breathes again as he feels Patrick line himself up, and then lets out another when he pushes in on a slow, controlled slide. He loves how full Patrick makes him feel, the pressure and the nearly too-much of it all, the way he can hear his loud, wobbly breathing as he tries to restrain himself, letting David adjust.

David shifts his hips a little, the feeling deepening, and it makes Patrick gasp. “David,” he says, almost like a warning, and David opens his eyes to shake his head at him a little innocently.

“What?”

“You’re—” he pulls out slowly, only to press back in hard, shocking a whine out of David, “—impossible.”

“I wouldn’t be if you would just _fuck_ me—” David disagrees, words tumbling out fast before Patrick can cut him off with another thrust, which he does. “_Fuck_,” David repeats, fervent, and then Patrick is setting up a rhym: shallow and not enough yet, but a rhythm nonetheless.

David is greedy for it, rolling his hips into Patrick every time, even reaching for his cock once before Patrick twists his hand away in one harsh movement, pinning his wrist above his head. “Can you be patient?” he asks, his voice a dangerous shudder, but David shakes his head, absolutely shameless. Patrick laughs, low and sexy and agreeable, because he loves David shameless.

Finally, _finally_ he bottoms out and lowers himself, David’s leg slipping off his shoulder to wrap around Patrick instead. He kisses David, panting and dazed, the flush on his cheeks so beautiful David can barely stand it. “Doing okay?” he asks, so quiet between them, and David wants to say yes, wants to go with the flow the way Patrick is, but he’s not.

“I’m so close,” he says instead, because he feels like he was teased for eternity. “I wanna come, Patrick, please make me come.” It’s the desperate voice again, and David hates himself for a flash, but then Patrick is grinning, all teeth, and nipping at David’s lower lip.

“David,” he says, and David expects there to be a follow-up for that but there isn’t, just Patrick fucking him harder now. Not slamming into him or anything like that, but he speeds up and the feeling crashes over David again and again in uncompromising waves. He can barely hear the sounds coming out of his mouth he’s so out of it, and then Patrick is reaching for his dick and he almost _screams_ it feels so incredible. He’s been so good and he’s wanted this for so long and now he’s going to get it, Patrick is going to make him come and he can’t even bring himself to care about the way he sounds, the way he’s sure the neighbors maybe heard that last one, but who cares, he’s never going to see these people again because he and Patrick are _married_. They’re married, and they’re moving into a house tomorrow, and they can fuck as loud and messy as they want because there won’t be any neighbors to annoy, and David can’t wait.

“Yeah,” Patrick says soothingly, “you’re so perfect, you’re so good, fuck, David.” He takes his hand off David and David nearly _sobs_, but it’s to get better leverage on his hips, so maybe that’s okay. “Touch yourself for me, god, come for me David,” he says, and David strokes himself once, twice, three times—fast and determined—and he’s coming between them, making a mess of his own chest and Patrick’s abs.

“You’re so beautiful, that was so gorgeous, David, you don’t even know,” Patrick pants, still moving, though he’s becoming more erratic now, with David’s body riding out the end of it, still shaking. “I’m gonna—fuck, _fuck—_”

And then he’s coming too, and David takes it, he takes it and he presses a hand firmly onto Patrick’s back as he moves through his orgasm unevenly, the sounds coming out of him these bitten-off, shocked, overcome noises that David loves. He collapses on top after, and David pets his back and kisses the side of his neck, trying to be soothing.

“God,” his husband finally lets out after he’s caught his breath. He turns his head so that his chin is resting on David’s chest. “That was—”

“An eleven?” David asks with an impish smile, and it takes a moment before the recognition, the amusement flashes over Patrick’s face. He doesn’t know why the night they moved in hit him all of a sudden as if it were somehow a bookend to this one, because he honestly hadn’t thought about it very hard until now, the fact that even the best of beginnings need an end.

“More like thirty-five,” Patrick says, just to be annoying, and David rolls his eyes.

“Okay, you think you’re cute but just for that, Ted and I are gonna do the boxes, and Alexis can help you with the headboard, frame, and mattress,” he says, teasing and rolling his eyes because Patrick always—does this, refuses to be a point of consistent data on the scales that David is constantly calibrating and then recalibrating for him.

“Yeah, I’m sure she’d be down for that,” Patrick says disbelievingly. He’s back to his normal tone of voice, gently mocking and sarcastic, the goopy, head-over-heels voice and eyes vanished as he pulls out carefully.

David winces a little at first and then he just feels so… hollow. He lets out a sad, wounded little noise, and Patrick presses a sweet, consoling kiss to his cheek. “Sorry,” he says, always so considerate, and then he’s making his way to the bathroom. David considers making a joke about how there’s no extra washcloth, so he better be using his own, but he just lies there, breathing. Patrick’s come is slowly seeping out of him and David tries to concentrate on that instead, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to feel every part of it.

It’s not enough, though, so he reaches down and fucks it back into himself with his finger, leisurely and experimental. He lets out a soft little noise, quiet enough he hopes Patrick can’t hear, not because he’d disapprove but because it’s embarrassing, how much David wants Patrick as much as he can have him all the time. They’re married now, and that mad desire is supposed to cool off, drain away, but David feels as filled with it as he did the night he kissed Patrick on his birthday; their first time at Stevie’s; the rushed and desperate fumblings in the stockroom after David’s lip sync when they were just too eager to get their hands on each other again; and a little over a week ago at a hotel in Elmdale on their wedding night.

“Ugh,” Patrick groans when he comes out, and David opens his eyes, smiles guilty because he’d gotten lost in his head and forgotten. “Are you trying to kill me?” he asks as he comes closer, and David scoots aside so Patrick can perch on the edge of the bed.

He wipes the mess off David’s stomach gently and efficiently as he smooths down David’s side with his other hand, over his hip and then reaching slowly between this legs. David hums agreeably. “Do you want…?” Patrick asks, letting the sentence trail off with a raised eyebrow.

And god, David could come again, but it would be pushing it and it wouldn’t be quick, and he knows Ted is going to show up here at 8 AM on the dot, probably armed with donuts and puns, dragging Alexis behind him with coffee, and it’s going to be a long day. He shakes his head. “Mm-mm,” he says, and lets Patrick clean him up. He sits up on his elbows, leaning in to kiss him when he’s done. It’s a soft, comfortable kiss, and when he pulls away Patrick’s smile is so pleased and tender that David can’t look at it for more than a moment.

Patrick doesn’t reach for clothes and neither does David, too exhausted to bother. He gets up without a word, padding into the bathroom and as soon as he’s out of sight it hits David hard that _this_—this is their last night. This is their last night in this place they grew together and became permanent. He held Patrick on a couch over there, gone now, before he came out to his parents. They laid in this bed for hours after, talking softly about what it all meant. Over there is the door Patrick pushed him up against after they got engaged, kissing him so passionately David thought he might faint. They’ve spent so many nights here, important ones and ordinary ones, and all of a sudden David feels kind of choked up, overwhelmed by the enormity of it all.

Tears sting his eyes and he turns, shoving his face harder into the pillow. He’s so stupid, he should have been savoring every second of this, willing it to memory because what if everything changes now, what if—

He feels Patrick’s arms go easily around his waist, tugging him against his chest, radiating warmth, and a smile fights its way onto his face before he can think about it. “Leaving the bed for last was a good plan,” he says, his voice rough with exhaustion.

David sniffles a little, nods, marveling at the way Patrick’s mere presence can quiet his brain. “I told you I have good ideas,” he says, voice a little smaller than normal, and Patrick’s laugh rumbles behind him.

“On occasion, you do,” Patrick admits, and David squawks, mock offended. He presses an apologetic kiss to the back of David’s neck and whispers, “I’m excited for tomorrow,” into the skin there.

“Me too,” David whispers into the pillow, chest tight with how much he means it.

“I mean, the moving itself will be horrible,” he says, “and probably not helped by Alexis’ presence, either, but like… when we wake up the next morning, it’ll be in the new bedroom, with the skylight you liked. And there are those matching sinks in the bathroom, remember, so we won’t have to trip over each other getting ready—”

“I didn’t mind tripping over you,” David says softly, and Patrick gives him a doting kind of squeeze. David can hear the smile in his voice when he starts talking again.

“You can still do it then, for fun. But there’s that little breakfast nook in the kitchen, remember? The one you’ve been drooling over since we first looked?”

David scoffs, not really annoyed but pretending to be. “As if I’m going to forget the breakfast nook, Patrick.”

He laughs indulgently and a warmth blooms in the center of David to hear it. “Right. And we’ll get to pick pieces for the guest bedroom and get it ready for when my parents come to stay, and you can hang our pictures wherever you want, and I was thinking maybe we should paint the dining room…” He trails off on a yawn but David wants him to keep going, keep talking forever about their future and what it will look like, the color and texture of it.

“Paint it ourselves?” he asks, with a little bit of apprehension, and feels Patrick nod behind him.

“Don’t worry, you can wear my work shirt,” Patrick offers, voice so full of teasing and glowing with fondness, and David reaches down to tangle his fingers with Patrick’s. He doesn’t have a lot of faith in his ability to paint a whole room, but he likes the image of it: the two of them working together, sweating and laughing and kissing to distract each other when needed, Patrick’s work shirt thrown over his own t-shirt, Patrick getting a little bit of paint on him on purpose just to make him jump.

He feels Patrick press a kiss just behind his ear in a silent good night, and David hums softly in response. He’s too tired for words, suddenly, but he wants to keep thinking of this. It’s like a beautiful dream, the kind you don’t want to end, so he closes his eyes and pictures them in the morning, leaving their keys on the counter for Ray to pick up later. It will be an unremarkable moment as they rush to move boxes, load the truck, and get started on the process of filling up their new house, their new life. Maybe they’ll order everyone a pizza as a thank you and they’ll sit on the floor and enjoy the beginning of this new chapter of life with their friends and family. After everyone leaves, they will make up the bed, put the sheets on, and they will fall asleep in a whole new home.

But David knows Patrick’s arms around him will feel just the same, and he falls asleep smiling at the thought.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed! [Twitter](https://twitter.com/wardowedidit) is where you can find me most often, ranting about domesticity and procrastinating on finishing things. :)


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